


Creideamh Sí

by Lechuza_Rosado



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Canon-Typical Violence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Character Study, Dr Loomis SUCKS, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, M/M, Medical Abuse, Michael Myers uses ASL, More will be added as needed, Slow Romance, none of that is detailed dw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lechuza_Rosado/pseuds/Lechuza_Rosado
Summary: "Creideamh Sí, Irish for the "Fairy Faith", a collection of beliefs and practices observed by those who wish to keep good relationships with the aos sí and avoid angering them."In which the explanation for Michael Myers is fairly simple, he's a Fae and not bound to our rules. Though he himself is not entirely aware of this. And when someone shows him an act of kindness, he fixates on it. As he unknowingly follows the rules of the Fae, kindness much be returned after all.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Creideamh Sí

**Author's Note:**

> So a theory of mine with a freind got out of hand so here I am, this fic assumes you are aware of most fae lore but I will add explanations in the story when it allows.
> 
> I'm drawing heavily from the 1979 novel for the supernatural elements and back story regarding Michael. As well as some parts of comics and the first two movies.
> 
> TW for mentions of medical abuse in the 3rd paragraph after the first line break and patient abuse in the 7th and 8th ones. Also stalking at the very end but its not Michael this time (surprise I know!)
> 
> I just wanna note that the incidents I pulled from in those are canon from the books and comics, :) Loomis fans i'm sorry but that man should have been fired ages ago.

November 2, 1978

In a place not too far but not too close to Haddonfield,

A _daoine sídhe_ wanders outside the mounds and in the world of man, far from his kin. As he has been most of his life.

The kin I speak of are not of mortal flesh. But of The Good Neighbors, who care not of the morals of man. Who do what they like, be it brings joy or chaos to those around them.

He is strong, but the fire that blazed still makes his skin ache and sting. His eye lost to a wand of iron. He is strong, and he is powerful. But he has spent so long in the world of man that even he must find rest.

The voice who guides him is quiet but not silent, a voice of his kin. A voice who was wronged, by the world around him. Family, strangers, objects of affection, all tore him apart. He wishes to make it right. To be paid in blood. To be paid tenfold.

He has gotten his payment for now, but only time will tell if he hungers again.

For The Folk are not bound to the laws of man, they do what they like;

Merriment, Chaos, Music, Violence, and sometimes-

Love.

* * *

The rain is strong tonight, it makes his clothes heavy and his hair stick to his face and in his eyes. He only bothers to brush it out of his right one. He can feel the roughness of the burns on his hands as they brush his cheek. He wonders if they will scar, so far it has been a guessing game with what will leave it’s mark and what will simply disappear.

He thinks of his left eye and how it _burned_ when that hanger pierced it. It burned worse than the fire did. Maybe that’s why he was able to get up and move. Leave that hospital before they found him and dragged him away again. Michael would _not_ go back, he rather lose his other eye. 

How Loomis thought he actually liked it there was beyond him. With the drugs the good doctor ordered be pumped into him for _‘safety’_ . That made him lose track of the days, weeks, and more as the time rolled on. The _‘treatment’_ that wracked his whole body in pain and fear. Maybe they did it just to try to make him scream. Make him say something, _anything_. But no matter how many times they gave him the ECT he stayed quiet.

No he would not be going back. Or maybe they would just drag him to prison, and then to court, give him the chair once they pulled out the list of all those people he killed. _(Blood must be paid with blood Michael)._ Only to find that he can’t die. So they would do it again, again, and _again_ until they could finally put him in the ground. But would he stay there?

So worse than the hospital, _maybe_. Either way he’s better off in neither.

He takes in his surroundings. It looks like he wandered into some other town’s main street. It’s all unfamiliar, only a few lights remain so it’s probably late. The rain is much harder now, and he almost feels as if he’s underwater with the weight of it. On the bright side he supposed, the rain must have washed off the dirt, soot, and blood on him by now.

Michael’s mind is brought back to the fire. He wants his mask back, but if he didn’t take it off he’s very sure it would have fused to his skin. But that thought doesn't soothe the itch he has. That was not his first mask, he remembers the ones he made throughout the years at the hospital. Another barrier between him and the world. He just couldn’t stand everyone looking at him after a while, _especially_ Loomis. 

He remembers when Loomis grabbed his arm so tight he thought it might pop out as he screamed at him and called him the devil. It was after the Halloween party, the one when Nancy drowned when bobbing for apples. He had almost hit him too had that nurse not stopped him. Was her name Jennifer? He couldn’t remember, he didn’t see her much. She worked in the girl’s ward, Loomis was her mentor. Maybe that’s why she didn’t report him.

Loomis had blamed him too when she died. He didn’t touch him, but he remembers the yelling. That’s when he started to wear the masks so much more often. He didn't say anything of course, he doubt's Loomis wouldn't believe him even if he did. How he didn't do anything, how it wasn't him.

He has an idea of what it _was_ though. Making all those accidents happen. Michael recalls a dream of when he was first put in the hospital. Large eyes looking at him, eyes like his own. Long limbs that cover his whole body into a warm hug. A promise whispered to him to bring comfort. A promise to keep him safe.

Doubt Loomis would believe that either.

Michael's mind keeps wandering as he glances around the street. Missing the puddle that was right in front of him. Next thing he knew he landed on his back with a loud _'CRACK'_ as he hit the pavement.

Well, this _might_ as well happen.

Michael wonders if that dream was actually a dream, as the rain continues to hammer down on him.

* * *

Xochitl always loved fairy tales. As a child they practically lived in the library, reading all the picture books in about a year during the first grade. As they grew older they consumed more and more stories, fantasy and history being what they leaned on. But their favorite was when both of those subjects collided.

The old god Loki, clever and sharp, tricking gods and men alike. His children, monstrous, but a beauty behind them few could see. The stories of their very own ancestors, how Huitzilopochtli became the sun. How Xolotl helped his brother Quetzalcoatal carry the bones of man from the underworld and breath new life in them. Even stories of the fae folk, beautiful but dangerous. And how one is best to leave them be. Anger then and suffer tenfold, but should you gain their favor, your life will be blessed.

Oh yes they loved those stories. Full with the weight of history, covered in the wonderment of fantasy. Because of their love they got in trouble for reading while on the job (despite it being a very slow day. Mr. Smithson _didn’t_ care though). So now Xochitl was stuck with bringing in the new holiday stock and decorations all by theirself past midnight. With a sigh they looked out the window as they haphazardly slapped the last paper turkey on with tape. If they didn’t leave now the sidewalk might flood on them, and they were _starving_ . They probably had enough decorations up that Mr. Smithson wouldn’t complain too much about it when he opened tomorrow (or later today really), _probably_.

With a quickness saved only for when they’re trying to get out of doing work, Xochitl swapped their sneakers for rain boots and threw their coat on. They close the shop up with ease. Checking their pockets before stepping out the door. Book, keys, pepper spray, sneakers, pointy umbrella just in case pepper spray doesn't work. And for the rain they supposed.

They really should invest in a car, but cars were _expensive_ . Saoirse assured them that there was never anything to worry about in Hawthorn. Nothing bad ever happened in this little town she said. But that did nothing to ease their anxiety about walking home all alone in the dark. _Especially_ with the news from a few towns over during Halloween. Haddonfield was by no means next door, but it wasn’t too far either.

Xochitl hummed a tune to ease their anxiety as they locked the store doors. The dinner wasn’t that far, they can wait out the rain with a hot meal. If they’re lucky they could ask Nancy for a ride home if she was working tonight. Just as they opened their umbrella and stepped out under the clouds, movement across the street caught their attention. It was a man, a very _tall_ looking man, walking in the rain with nothing to shield him from it. Even from this distance he looked absolutely drenched when he passed under the streetlamp.

 _‘Poor guy.’_ was all they really thought as they turned their head away. That would have been the end of that had it not been for the loud _crack_ they heard right after. Glancing over in his direction they saw the man was now on the ground.

.......?

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…..?

Yup he wasn’t getting up.

Concern for their fellow man overtook their anxiety of would be serial killers lurking in the dark. In a flash Xochitl hurried across the street towards him. Careful not to slip as well, though they very much almost did when their foot hit the curb. They crouched down near his head, moving the umbrella to shield the both of them. Peering down, their face crestfallen with worry.

“Are you alright?!” They tried to hide the panic in their voice. “That sounded like it hurt.”

Hovering above him under the streetlamp Xochitl could see his face much more clearly now. His hair was short and a lighter dark brown than their own. Sticking to his face in all sorts of directions, burn scars (or maybe rashes? It was hard to tell) on his cheeks. But what stood out the most was his expression. Or lack of it really.

He was looking straight ahead at the sky almost as if he was trying to look past the clouds. One _could_ say his face was blank, but if they had to put a word to it, they would call it _‘indifference’_. It was almost calming. Though it didn’t wash away their worries for his well being. His expression didn’t change as he turned his head to look at them. So they tried to talk to him again.

“Are you okay?” They tilted their head to see if there was any blood coming out from the back of his head (there wasn’t), and the stranger mirrored the gesture. He blinked slowly at them, not unlike a cat. And much like a cat, he sprang up with a swiftness that almost knocked the umbrella outta their hands. But Xochitl stands up with him, determined to shelter him from the rain lest he catch a worse cold than he probably already has.

They can't help but be grateful that they got an obnoxiously large umbrella, at his full height they have to raise their arm almost above their head to cover the both of them. Just how tall is this guy? He is at least six feet, maybe more. Not only is he soaking wet, but his clothes are a mess. Coveralls torn and look like they were eaten away by fire judging by the dark ends. The rashes (or actually most likely burns) are on his hands as well. Goodness did he get into a car accident or something?

He was now just staring at them, as if waiting for a reaction. Head tilted in curiosity it seemed. Some rain that was unlucky enough to drip off their umbrella and onto the back of their neck brought them back down to earth. Questions later, for the rain was trying to whisk the two of them away it seemed. Xochitl rummaged in their bag for a moment, stranger still watching them carefully, and pulled out a handkerchief. Offering it to the man.

“Here, it’s not much but- well you’re soaping wet.” 

He looks at the offering, then back to them, then back to the handkerchief. Then accepts it after a moment and begins to pat his face.

Xochitl smiles. He didn’t seem to care much for talking, but that was alright. Did he use sign? Thankfully Xochitl picked it up when babysitting Imogen, Saoirse’s little sister. The little girl was mute, they didn’t know the details behind it (nor was it their business). Perhaps he was similar? One thing was for sure though was that they wanted to make certain he was alright before sending him on his way. He looked as if he’d been through the wringer and back again. The mysterious stranger tries to hand the handkerchief back, but they only shake their head and smile a bit brighter at him.

“Oh you can keep it! I think you need it more than I do at the moment.” He only stares a moment before nodding, folding it as neat as he could and placing it in his pocket.

And as he does, Xochitl’s stomach lets out a very loud ‘ _gurgle_ ’.

Oh heavens.

They miss the twitch of his mouth when they look away, embarrassed. Then think of their original plan and get an idea.

“Uh- I was just getting off work and gonna wait out the rain at the dinner down the street. Do you wanna..come with? My treat.” They realize asking a stranger they found on the sidewalk this is probably not the best idea. But they were hungry, and didn’t want to leave him at the mercy of the elements. Besides he seems polite enough. Surely if he wanted to he could have hurt them by now?

He blinks and leans his head back slightly, surprised at the question they supposed. He takes a moment to think, staring straight at them. It makes them fidget, but they suppose he’s just being cautious because they’re a stranger. As they should too probably be as well. After a moment of staring and shuffling of feet in place outta embarrassment on Xochitl’s part, he nods in agreement.

And that’s how Xochitl found theirself sitting across from a man they just met no less than ten minutes ago. It seems the dinner also was already outfitted with November decorations as well. Pilgrims and paper leaves on the windows and walls. Nancy was not on shift, so not a single face looked familiar to them. Just some truck drivers tucked in their own corners and an older woman at the counter chewing some gum as she studied her painted nails.

Under the indoor lighting they could get a better look at his face now. Those marks on his cheeks _were_ burns, but they didn’t look too bad. As he scanned the menu they took better notice of his eyes as well. The one on the right had a scar that started above his brow and ended just before his cheek. His right eye was so light, you could hardly tell the faint blue hue still left. Like a full moon on a clear night. His left eye on the other hand was deep and dark. Like a well you could get lost in if you leaned in too close.

 _‘How pretty’_ they thought. Then hurriedly looked at their own menu before they got caught staring. Trying to ignore their heart skipping a beat. But they couldn’t help but muse that those eyes looked familiar. Like something they saw in a book…

The waitress comes by and takes their orders, Xochitl just orders some soup and a juice. While their new friend orders _seven_ pancakes and a glass of milk. He must have been starving more than they were. And as the waitress walks away with their menus, they figure now is the time to ask questions.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s your name?.” They make sure to sign the question as they ask, just in case. All he does is stare at them once again for a moment. Annoyance? Amusement? Surprise? His face does not change so he’s hard to read. Then he starts to raise his hands.

 _‘Michael’_ He signs, his hands are slow in their movement. Unclear if for their benefit or because of lack of use for the motions. They can’t help but smile brightly at him now that they can put a name to his face.

“I’m Xochitl, it’s good to meet you Michael.” In their enthusiasm, they don’t see his shoulders loosen a bit at their reply. As if expecting a certain reaction to his name.

“Are you from around here?”

_‘No’_

“Did you get into an accident? You look roughed up.”

_‘Of a sort’_

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

_‘No.’_

Well that was enough questions they supposed. He didn’t want to give detailed answers and they didn’t want to push what wasn’t their business. Plus he looked okay? Just messy. Perhaps his injuries weren’t as bad as they seemed. They gave him a nod of understanding as they set their hands down and looked out the window. The rain was falling down harder now. Autumn leaves being washed away down the stream in the streets, their brilliant colors illuminated by the street lamps for the last time as they got pulled in by the drains.

A soft knock on the table catches their attention. It’s Michael, he raises his hands when Xochitl gives him a nod that they’re paying attention.

_‘Why are you being so nice to me?’_

Well that question catches them off guard, but it is a valid question. They are technically still strangers after all.

“We’ll, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried you got a concussion or something when I heard you hit the ground from across the street.”

_‘Why?’_

Now it’s their turn to tilt their head in curiosity at him. “Well, why not?” 

In all honesty, they didn’t have an excuse or good reason to not help him. That’s just how they were, too nice for their own good as everyone so loved to tell them. They still remember when they were ten and gave a homeless woman half of their allowance as they passed her on the street. Their parents trying to explain why they shouldn’t do that and how she was probably gonna waste it on ‘useless’ things. They couldn’t understand why their parents would say something so cruel then and they still can’t now at twenty three. The world was already such a cold place. Why make it worse? Why not add a bit of kindness and help someone in need of a little bit of generosity?

Their response makes him start to think again. And for a moment Xochitl wonders just what happened to him to make him confused by _kindness_ from a stranger. The thought makes their heart ache slightly. Both of them are pulled from their thoughts as the waitress brings over their meals though, and the dilemma is pushed away in favor of food. They watch in amazement as Michael drenches his pancakes in strawberry syrup and try not to giggle when they see it smear on his lips.

His eyes crinkle ever so slightly when he sees them fumble and drop their crackers into their soup and pout. And this time, they see it. 

A comfortable silence falls over the pair as they eat and wait out the rain. Michael even ordered another round of pancakes. Which Xochitl assured was fine when he glanced their way before asking. “If you’re hungry, you should eat till you’re full.” Is what they simply said, pushing their empty dish to the side.

By the time the rain lets up they’re the only customers left in the restaurant. The rain is now a pleasantly light drizzle, hopefully it’ll stay that way for the whole walk home. Even Michael is mostly dry by now, mostly. His clothes still look awfully damp, but his hair seems to be dry. It was curly and wavy. Not unlike their own, just more noticeable since his was much shorter. He looked pretty, with how his curls framed his face. Like a carefully carved statue.

 _‘God damn it Xochitl. Not now.’_ They scold theirself while digging for a tip.

As they wave goodbye to the staff while walking out under the canopy, Xochitl flips up their hood up and closes their coat tighter. The rain may be lighter but it was still cold, and the wind had started to blow as well. With a bit of a dramatic flourish (Theater kid as always Xochitl) they hand Michael their umbrella. Which makes him look at them confused once again, which brings back that ache in their heart.

“Take it, you need it more than I do. Home isn’t that far from here for me.” He looks at the offering, then back to them, then back to the umbrella. Before finally taking it from their hands with care.

“Alright well I need to get going, but if you’re gonna stick around town for a bit..” They look to their boots, trying to find their words. Amazed that now finally their shyness has crawled its way back. To Michael’s credit he is patient as he waits for them to finish. Xochitl finally looks up at him, hands in pockets and a sheepish smile on their face “Well I work at Smithson’s General Store. I work there almost every day so- if you need someone to show you around I’m usually there.”

Michael leaves them hanging in silence for a moment almost too long till he finally nods. Xochitl let's go on the breath they were holding and they swear they see him smile for a split second. Did he do that purpose just to tease them? It almost makes them laugh. With a quick and polite goodbye, Xochitl leaves him under the dinner canopy. Fast walking through the night to reach home and stare at the ceiling till they feel asleep. Thinking about how they would tell Saoirse at work tomorrow about their late night encounter. And how it almost seemed a bit like something out of a fairy tale.

* * *

Michael stares at his hand as he contemplates the feelings swirling inside him.

After leaving the hospital- after what he did- _(It was necessary Michael, your great grandfather understood. As do you, don’t you?)_ the normalcy of that whole encounter was….weird.

It was too normal. At least what he _supposed_ normal was. He hadn’t sat down in a restaurant since- well since a very long time. And that person, Xochitl. They just didn’t stop being nice to him? Even before he left, no one was this nice to him since he was a child. Maybe they were the weird one? No one is that kind for no reason, right? The whole situation just made him more and more confused the longer he thought about it.

Despite it all...it felt nice. He _liked_ that feeling, and as he felt the weight of the gifts in his hand and pocket, instinct told him he must return the favor. This was the same instinct that told him to keep away from iron, punish those who don’t keep their promises, and other little things that make him think he was different from others. He does not know where this comes from, but he knows it is in his nature. Whatever that may be.

When he glances back he can see Xochitl further up in the distance. And another figure lurking a bit ways behind them. A man in a baseball cap and flannel shirt, one of the truck drivers from the dinner. His walk is slow, but not so slow as to fall too far behind. Like a rat slinking around in the dark.

Michael knows that kind of walk very well. He supposed if he wants to return the favor, now is a good time as any to start.

He is glad Xochitl doesn't hear the quiet gasp of the man that was following them against the rain. They don't see Michael wrap his arm tightly around his neck and drag him into a nearby alleyway. And they don’t even get a chance to see Michael make quick use of that umbrella. That end of it can gouge out an eye you know, with enough force behind it.

No, they make it home without incident. Their new friend makes sure of that. In his own way like an owl watching their hunting grounds. He will keep watch of them, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Especially questions, I can't guarantee I'll answer those in case of spoilers but it's fun to see people speculate on my work :3c especially with the mystery I've set up!


End file.
